


Nobody Would Want to Dance With a Magic Ox

by DovaBunny



Series: FicTober Ficlets [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Funny awkward adaar is funny, Humour, Inquisitor Adaar - Freeform, Krem - Freeform, Other, cremquisitor, fictober18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 16:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovaBunny/pseuds/DovaBunny
Summary: Fictober prompt: "I thought you had forgotten"DA Inktober prompt: HalamshiralAdaar had always thought nobody would ever look at her and see beauty and strength in equal measure, that nobody could ever love her as she is. She always thought nobody would ever want to dance with her, especially not more than once.Maker, she has never been more happy to be right.





	Nobody Would Want to Dance With a Magic Ox

Adaar shifted uncomfortably in the constricting fruity outfit they made her wear. For someone used to wearing Arishok armour while twirling a staff around at lightning speed, feeling like a stuffed nug in a frilly sock was...demeaning and embarrassing. 

But they meant well, her advisors. Josie had practically bounced on her toes when first she saw Adaar in the Inquisition formal attire, calling her both ‘striking’ and ‘resplendent’. Whatever the fade that means. Leliana has smirked in that creepy I-can-murder-you-in-your-sleep-but-chose-not-to-you’re-welcome way of hers, speculating that the Inquisitor would be flooded with hopeful suitors. Cullen was the only one who grumbled along with her as they tugged and frowned at their outfits. 

But standing here, on the balcony of the queen of Orlais’ home or whatever (Maker, Josie will kill her if she heard those thoughts), there was no sweeping compliments, no swooning suitors, and no friendly faces. There were masks and gossip, thinly-veiled insults and condescending giggles. No one cared that she had saved Briala’s ex-girlfriend and thereby saving the whole damn country from a bloody civil war. Oh no, they’d rather keep their distance from the 7ft grey giant with swooping black horns adorned in gold, long white hair braided to her butt, and the tell-tale scars around her red lips of where she had once been silenced. 

Too big, too opposing, too ugly, too grey, too non-human, too...horny. 

She allowed herself a stupid little giggle at that last bit. 

Truth be told, very few things made her smile these days. Before Haven fell she had been a simple woman that found happiness in simple things - good food, a good fight, good ale, and good company was enough to have her grinning ear to ear with a flush on her cheeks. Being with Bull’s Chargers gave her that long lost sense of belonging. Around that lot of misfits she felt safe to be herself and let her guard down, they never judged only teased, and never talked in circles. 

And then...there was Krem. 

The first time she had seen the lieutenant, swinging a gigantic warhammer like it was a turkey leg, looking like the hero from one of Varric’s fantastic romance stories - she’d felt something strange twist in her stomach. It had taken her a long time to realise that twist was her having a ginormous crush on the man. But instead of being a decent adult abou it, instead she blushed like a virgin maid about to get her V card stamped by Zevran Arainai, and running to hide whenever she saw him in fear that instead of words only garbled sounds would escape her. That actually did happen, three times, where she would drink that strong shit Iron Bull said could make you damn-near breath fire and grow a tail, untill she felt brave enough to approach the handsome, strapping warrior standing on his chair like he was the king of the tavern….

...not knowing he was the king of her heart. 

...holy fuck, did she really just think that? That’s good shit! She needs to give Varric some tips on writing romance, seems she’s a natural. But only in theory. 

Each time she opened her mouth to say something smart or witty, to compliment that way he sweeps his warhammer low to knock enemies off their feet before spinning it up to slam back down crushing skull of a Venatori. Or maybe she would compliment his choice of haircut? How he could burp words in Qunlat? It made no difference what she  _ ‘planned’  _ on saying, because all that came out was “so-Ima-fyo-imean-notwha-hnggk…” right before she turned and all but fled the Tavern to go hide under the hay in the stables. If Blackwall saw her he never said a word. Good man that, seems honest and reliable. 

Because of such profoundly mature and sophisticated behaviour one might come to expect of a person of her status and office - she had started to avoid Krem, the Tavern, and the Chargers. Heck, she even avoided being in Skyhold if she could. There would barely be a ‘ _ welcome back, Inquisitor _ ’ before there was a ‘l _ et’s go get something to drink _ ’ and then of course a ‘ _ Boss! The chargers and I haven’t seen you in a while, ain’t that right, Kerem de-la Creme _ ?’ and she’d be  _ ‘I NEED TO GO TO THE HISSING WASTES _ ’ -ing out of Skyhold before anyone could say ‘ _ Dorian your mustache is looking marvelous for someone who had just arrived back at civilisation not ten minutes ago from the Fallow Mire _ ’. 

It was the last night before the Inquisition left Skyhold for Halamshiral that she decided to cave and go wallow in self-pity at Herald’s Rest, her forehead planted on the table she claimed for herself in the corner. She typically gave off quite a ‘keep your distance I am big and scary’ aura, even without the glowing arm, but tonight she was giving off plain old ‘fuck off’ vibes. Of course ‘vibes’ never meant shit if you’re the Iron Bull. 

“Bummed about the upcoming party?” he cheerfully said in that warm gravelly voice of his. “It’s not that bad, boss. We’ll go, save the empress, scare some humans, have them kiss our asses, and then get our bellies full of fancy food and wine.” At her barely scoffed response, his voice went a little softer. “What’s this really about? You got a weak stomach for Orlesian Ham? Dorian claims it tastes of despair. Scared of masks? Can’t dance in red velvet?”

“Bull, if you don’t shut up and let me drink I’ll send that redhead in the kitchens to Redcliffe and there’ll be no more ‘strawberry shortcake’ for you. And yes I meant it like that.” Adaar snorted mirthlessly. “Besides, I’m a giant grey ox mage with fade power gifted by Andraste herself and more scars than they have hair. Nobody would want to dance with me…” She had said the words softly, whispering it to the wood on the table, not intending it to fall on any ears. 

Especially not the beautiful ears of a handsome Tevinter warrior who looked at her with slight confusion and concern when she finally lifted her head.  

 

The inquisitor tugged at the tight collar, ripping a few seams so she could breathe. With not much else to do, she amused herself by watching the gardens below. The balcony was secluded enough to not draw the attention of other guests looking to step into the cool air but still wanting to bask in the festivities. And those seeking seclusion for ‘other’ reasons, well, she could see them behind various shrubbery and hedges from where she stood. She’ll commend them for their commitment, that’s for sure, for soldiering through removing so many layers of cloth and frill and belts and skirts before they get to smoosh the parts together they want to smoosh together. Maybe she should go call Cassandra...

As it were, she was so distracted that she completely missed the doors behind her open and close, as well as the steps towards her, till a not-so-subtle throat clearing had her whirl around, her long white braid whipping her in the face as she started with “I wasn’t looking at anything!” only to freeze. 

“Inquisitor,” Krem greeted with polite nod of the head. His hair neatly styled to the side (she suspected Dorian had a hand in that, literally), his uniform showing off his broad shoulders, strong arms, and soldier’s posture. 

But that wasn’t what caused her breath to catch. 

Stuck to his chest was a little scrap of paper with the word ‘Nobody’ written on it. 

Krem smirked when he saw her stare at it. “I may have overhead you say ‘nobody’ would want to dance with you.” 

Her eyes went wide as he took a step closer, his arms behind his back, all cool confidence and determination. “I… I thought you’d forgotten,” she said dumbly. But HEY at least it was  _ words _ !

Krem’s smirk turned into a smile as he stopped in front of her and offered her his hand. “It would be very hard for me to forget you, my Inquisitor.” He extended one sinfully strong leg and gave a bow. “Now, would you be willing to dance with a nobody? Because nobody very much wants to dance with you.”

 

They couldn’t dance, neither of them, but heck if those kids didn’t care. Even as she towered over him, Adaar seemed to look up at Krem with stars in her eyes as he leads her in a swaying twirl around the balcony. They laughed and teased and danced, and her heart felt full. 

Adaar had always thought nobody would ever look at her and see beauty and strength in equal measure, that nobody could ever love her as she is. She always thought nobody would ever want to dance with her, especially not more than once.  

Maker, she has never been more happy to be right. 


End file.
